Farage Rhymes with Garage 

I feel the time has come for me to publicly disparage
The smug obnoxious Xenophobe Whose surname rhymes with garage

His out and out rejection of immigration, blacks and Hanukkah
Seems to me to be an irony
Given the pronunciation of his moniker!

Farage has rather a Frankish twang
A certain je ne sais quoi!
So how can a man with such obvious French ancestry 
Be so quick to bar?!

I’ve concluded he’s a masochist,
His campaign has left him jobless
He turned up at his office, Friday
And to the lot said “cobblers!”

He’s a man I find so easy to hate
Yet many rally to him
But while the snake may have fooled them
I personally see right through him.

His thin-veiled threats of anarchy 
And Anglo-ruled apartheid
Are not a threat but promises
To whitewash all of England’s past
And make us Dulux White!

But I’m Irish, see. (Well, my grandma was!)
And my name has Norman virtue
And my Grandad’s name’s from Viking times
So where do I return to??!

Do I fly to Cork to find a life
In Ireland’s southernmost town,
Or sail to Normandy or in fact
To Denmark settle down.

There’s no such thing as English
We’re a multicultural nation!
Anglo (French) and Saxon (German) is hardly pure breeding
But these people want to rewrite the books 
Historians will be reading.

Without the Normans
Would an Englishman’s home
His castle still remain?
And without Vikings would we be
The mariners we became?

The Romans built our towns and roads
But what have they ever done for us?!
The Irish built the railway lines 
So you don’t have to take the bus!

The Windies brought us colour
With their music, style and vision
Imagine the long Winter of discontent 
Without the reggae rhythm

The 70’s opened doors to India
And business Pakistani
Well, what would be the lads night out
Without a Biryani?!

As Berlin’s wall was taken down
I wept a tear of triumph
No longer will we leave in fear 
Of those prehistoric giants 

Of xenophobia, greed and envy 
Even South Africa followed suit,
But now arise a generation 
Who gives the lot the boot!

Take a long look at your English lives 
As you dine at Swedish tables 
Watching Japanese TV’s
Drive your German car to work upon 
A hundred foreign labels!

Each wave that came has made this home 
And starting at the bottom 
Has put to shame our lazy lives 
By remembering what we’ve forgotten

Integrity comes from deep within 
From earning honest bread
From working till you are worn out
And collapsing in your bed

No restless sleep for he who works
And earns his daily crust 
But on his efforts he can lean
And on his hands he’ll trust.

The Tories stole your benefits 
They questioned if you’re able
They forced the pound to be so strong 
You struggled to lay your table

But Farage blamed all the immigrants 
Those nasty foreign scum
He said they stole your nationhood
And you believed his lying tongue.

He set the fuse and waited for
The shit to hit the fan,
And now the news,
He’s buggered off!
What a spineless little man!

P J Deakin 2016©


On Sunday my Pastor spoke about the Parable of the Sower.

The seed fell all over, on the path, the rocky soil, in amongst the thorn bushes and on good well-tilled soil.

We know the story, and over-familiarity can mean that we lose the crux of the story. That we forget to look at things afresh.

Dave further explained how the seed that fell on the rocky soil was shallow, and that like shallow people there is no root and so when hard times come they shrivel up and rarely thrive.

The seed which fell among the thorns represents those who are easily distracted by the pleasures of life and so become choked by the pursuit of happiness through a hedonistic, materialistic lifestyle.

As I reflected on this over a coffee after the service, I recalled the number of times my faith has become stunted due to my shallow nature.

Without roots we die.

I’ve also been guilty of pursuing the pleasurable aspects of life, selfishly… often at the expense of those I should be caring for.

Whilst I considered this, I was looking out of the window and I saw this:


You may not see it at first but this is a (rather blurry) photo of a small tree stump which we pruned right back about 18 months ago when a team of us did some gardening work in the grounds of our new church building.

Look closer and you will see that a small slender branch has sprung up out out that branch and has soared higher and higher! It has grown at least 7 feet high in only 18 months!!

Why? Because despite the tree being removed, the roots still remain! And while the roots remain there is an irresistible instinct within that tree to grow! Roots will always lead to growth!

At the very top of that tiny slender branch there is a single leaf. New life is budding and bursting forth out of the shell of the old.

As I looked on I realised what God was saying to me, “get yourself rooted in me, then whatever life throws at you, you will always come back stronger!”

I realised that I will not pursue selfish pleasure if I am rooted. I will not seek man’s approval of I am rooted! For myself I pray the words of Paul in Ephesians 3 and trust that you will too…

“For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭3:14-19‬ ‭NIV‬‬

God Bless you!


Don’t Lump for Trump!

If I lived in AmericaI wouldn’t vote for Trump
I’d rather vote for Pootle 
In fact, any of The Flumps 
Than sit and twiddle with my thumbs
And watch that redneck lump…

I couldn’t let him have that power
And stand by like a chump!
I couldn’t idly watch that businessman
The US economy gazzump

With his modern take on Nazi prose 
Where African or Mexican can legally be thumped
When I look back on our history 
Consider Hitler, I’m stumped 

As to how a man with so evil an agenda
Could rise to power, yet Trump
Blames all the problems on the Muslims 
And Mexicans who jump

Across the void of poverty 
To make a life like Gump
Where shackles can be overcome 
And you don’t end on your rump 

But Mr Toupee wants to take your dreams
And throw them in the dump
For two centuries your great nation built 
On immigration pump
Yet now you say enough’s enough
You’re greedy and a grump!

The end is nigh, the eagle high 
Lies quivering in a clump
Because of evil, selfish agendas
Of that wicked Mr Trump!

P J Deakin 2016©

Ode to Anon.

You were the faceless voice
Standing just behind the curtain
Yours were the views and yours were the cues
That let us know for certain

The quotes that shaped our world perspective
Make one become somewhat reflective

Invisible, your voice rings loud
Across the annals of history
But how else would we have heard the voice
Of the learnéd wise, this mystery?

For in her wisdom she, Anon
Strove not for that she could not win
But chose instead to subtly make her statements heard

Through unsigned notes and letters stirred
The hearts and minds of generations
With her insightful observations
With nom-de-plume eponymous
She signed her name “Anonymous”

P J Deakin 2016 ©


I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw Him come towards me on that fateful day in Jerusalem! People would come from time to time to pray but no one ever came to me.

So imagine my surprise when he asked me, “do you want to be made well?” What a stupid question! Do I WANT to be made well? It wasn’t a matter of wanting, I couldn’t get there.

I stuttered, “Sir, I have no one to carry me to the water’s edge, when the angel comes down to stir the waters, another man gets there before me, while I am trying to get there”

His response surprised me, he didn’t rebuke the able men for not coming to my aid, neither did he seem to worry that I had been there for 38 years, he just simply said, “get up, pick up your mat and walk!” And as he said it, all of the excuses fell away from my lips because now I could feel strength returning to my joints. I leaped up and grabbed my bed and started leaping like a young lamb!

When the law men saw me carrying my bed they said, “why are you carrying your bed on the Sabbath?” I had forgotten what day it was, but hadn’t given it a moment’s thought because that day my life had changed!

I told them that the man who had healed me had commanded me to carry it, (who was I to argue with someone who had such authority?!)

They seemed far more worried about the fact that I was breaking the Sabbath than they were about the fact that I HAD BEEN HEALED!!!

Before today I had not taken responsibility for my healing, believing it to be someone else’s job, but the Master had said to me, “Do you want to be made well?” I made a good living from begging and having a disability had meant people took pity on me, but no more. From now on, my disability no longer restricted or defined me. I guess it’s easy to get used to it, I was known as Simon the Cripple. It was part of my name, my identity. After I was healed, people had to get to know me all over again. They got to see that there was more to me than just my disability and so did I!

I learned to stop blaming other people too, although my first reaction when the law people stopped me, was to blame Jesus! I learned to take responsibility for my own actions and to not cast blame on others all the time. 

It’s still hard, but after being crippled for 38 years, after making excuses for 38 years, I was ready to be made well.

Based on John Chapter 5, by Phil Deakin 2015 ©

On A Cold, Starry Night

On a cold, starry night,
Two young people travel
On a journey, their lives to discover

A man leads his donkey
To Bethlehem town
Her cargo, a soon-to-be Mother

With pain she’d looked back
As they left Nazareth
The hatred they’d shown had surprised her

When the people perceived
That the babe was conceived
Out of wedlock – they’d all ostracised her!

No room could be found
In King David’s home town
For the couple and their precious burden

As she cried out in pain
One man listened again calling out,
They both paused as they heard him…

“I have here a stable
It’s not much to see
But it’s warm and it’s dry and it’s free!”

Tired from their journey
The young aching Mother
Lay down in the hay to give birth

Such humble beginnings
For this newborn child
The King of all kings of the Earth!

Surrounded by livestock
And sacrifice lambs
The unblemished Lamb he was born

In a cows feeding trough
He made his first bed
His clothes made of rags that were torn

Shepherds came to visit He
Whom Angels had adored
And silently they worshipped Him,
The tiny infant Lord

Whilst still a toddler
Wise men came from Persian lands afar
Recounting their incredible tale
A miraculous guiding star!

Dictator King, Herod the Great
Explodes with rage and fear
A newborn King to take his throne
Lived in a town so near!?

A massacre, the despot decrees
Consumed so by his hatred
Each child of two years old or less
Must be exterminated!

Awoken by a warning dream
The father wakes his family
Heads south to Egypt to escape,
Political refugees.

This humble Jesus, born so low
Our own hearts does unveil…
Reminds us all to love once again
This familiar Nativity tale.

P J Deakin 2015 ©